Let the Caged Bird Sing
by SquidneyPie
Summary: The wind whipped around my still form, tugging at my knotted hair and ragged clothes. With a lone tear rolling down my cheek, I raised a single hand, spreading my long, dirty fingers wide. For him, I would do anything. Even if it leads to my demise. (Captian America X OC Rated M)
1. From the Start

I would have never had thought I would be picking up a story I had written 2 years ago to once again travel down a road of such adventure. I cannot wait to embark on this piece, to hopefully bring it to a close. It will be subjected to some major editing so that I can call it mine once again, in a way that a fanfiction writer may pretend that these characters are theirs.

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The storm ravaged the sky above me as its horrendous winds whipped through the trees. Rain plummeted to the ground soaking everything in its path. Rivers along the path send me to my knees as I slid to a brash halt. With crazed eyes, I searched the brush unable to pick my pursuers from the blurry shapes and dank colors.

Gasping, I brought myself to my feet and pushed myself faster and faster, the blackened forest, rushing past in a blur of dark greens and browns with its long, thin branches reaching out to try and drag ones weary soul into the abyss.

Catapulting myself over a large fallen tree that stymied my path, I found myself gasping painfully, my battered body struggled to keep up with my fleeting mind. I could hear the heavy footsteps of my pursuers in the distance, and with renewed vigor pushing me forward, I continued to run blindly. The surrounding foliage ensnared my skin, leaving thin claw-like marks that started to bleed. My heart was begging for mercy as the air I inhaled left a burning sensation in its wake.

In out In out Gasp Out

Dodging another tree, I turned left in hopes of deterring them from my erratic path. Their ATVs and bloodthirsty dogs could be heard close behind and I could only hope that the heavy rain would wash away my heavy, blood filled scent.

Running-always running.

The thought of being captured again filled my very soul, don't people have those… I would like to think I did, with dread. The Devil dragged woeful souls to the fiery pits of hell on a day to day basis, hopefully today was not my one way ticket. Five years of sweet freedom could not be ripped away because of an amateur, purely stupid mistake.

I should have known better than to leave a fire going for such a prolonged period of time. In doing so, I had set a beacon that, like a moth to a flame, had drawn the vermin to my camp.

I am trapped here on the ground; the disadvantages are much too great to stay amongst the ferns when I have something that no one else possesses; my curse.

All I need is an opening, just big enough to squeeze through, in the thick canopy above. With a thundering crash my prayers were answered, for as the lightning lit up the sky, a small gap in the trees was revealed; only three hundred yards ahead.

Time, running out of time.

" _She does not have much time, she is deteriorating, if you don't do something, then everything that we have been working for is lost. The only one to blame is you so do something damn it!"_

Two hundred yards left. It was then that I heard the powerful gun shots which only could mean one thing; they were uncomfortably close. Bullets pounded the earth around me, splitting wood and flinging moist dirt into the air.

One hundred yards, a bullet whizzed past my right ear, nicking the cartilage and embedded itself within a nearby tree with a soft thunk.

"Fuck" I sputtered as yet another bullet whizzed past my arm.

With a resounding boom, lightning lit up the sky to reveal the hole in the canopy, located right above me. With as much force as could demand from what was left of my strength, I launched myself upward, unfurling my frayed hawk-like wings, pushing them forward and with a gasp of pain; down; I rocketed through the air, feathers falling with each push.

With a couple more pulses of my ragged, thinning wings, I raced upwards towards my metaphorical pearly gate; the gap in the trees. A chorus of yells and commands flooded the air, as they simultaneously began to fire at my retreating form.

I soared quickly towards my escape when a sharp, white-hot pain ripped through my leg.

With a gasp of both relief and agony, I pulled my wings flush to my back and burst forth through the trees into the dank gray sky, with blood gushing from the ragged wound in my thigh my tears mixed with the rain, as my essence of life fell to the earth.

Reaching higher and higher, my body shook with the crashing thunder and a raspy laugh escaped my trembling lips. Had I made it? Had I truly escaped once again to breathe the serene air of freedom for another day?

If being constantly on the run is what one would call 'freedom'.

This happy thought was quickly silenced as the distinctive sound of a helicopter filled the air. The choppy air rang out as the craft appeared seemingly out of nowhere, the heavily armed machine rushed forward filling the air with bullets.

Freedom is such a lie.

This may be it… they may actually manage to drag me back to my own ninth circle, well that is, if they don't kill me first. They sure do not seem to be playing nice. With nowhere to run and out of options, I am forced to become the one thing I hated most. To become the monster, the murderer, of their sick twisted dreams.

 _With a well-placed roundhouse kick to the stomach, the fight was over. Though tedious, it ended just like all the rest, with my opponent left defenseless and exhausted on the floor. With a split lip and bruised face, he lay gasping on the floor. I extended a hand to help him to his feet, but my actions were halted when a sharp command came from the corner of the room._

 _"Kill him", said the deep voice. Clad in expensive business clothes that were partly covered by a long leather jacket, he strode forward._

 _Thick black hair that was casually slicked back crowned his head and his eyes were a dark brown, almost black that drew you in until you felt as though there was no escape. His most distinctive fetchers though, besides his strong jaw line and finally sculpted nose was the thick, ugly scar that cut through his left brow, marring his otherwise perfect olive toned complexion._

 _He only showed his ugly face when I trained, watching but never speaking._

 _"What?" I asked, dumbfounded trying to avoid his glare. At 15 I had become able to take on full-grown men who would tower above me. "The fight is over… what else is to be done." Frightened, I looked from the man with the scarred brow to my sparring partner now kneeling on the floor._

 _"Then take your prize." With a glint in his eye, he smiled that disgusting smirk that contorted his handsome face into that of a demon._

 _"There is not a prize to be won" I begged, pleading as his intent became clear._

 _"Do not refuse, or else I will be forced to do it myself? It is now your choice, one life or three? I will drag it out, making him beg for the sweet relief of death as will his young wife and child." He laughed, before striding forward, brushing past me. With a gloved hand, he grabbed the man from the floor and brought a knife in his ear. In a fluid motion, he dragged the blade down the man's scalp to then cut his ear from his head. The man's scream filled the air as blood gushed from the wound. "If I cut the other off, then he cannot hear you refuse to end his life swiftly and without pain!"_

 _"No! Please!" I begged, voice rising in pitch, "I will do anything! Just, just let him live… please"_

 _"KILL HIM!" He said nonchalantly, throwing the screaming man to my feet. The man with the scarred brow walked forward and gracefully landed behind me and with an almost soothing touch he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and placed the bloody blade into my trembling hands. Without a choice and just like a puppet on her string, I fell to my knees taking the blade and plunging it into his chest, over and over again. Sobbing, I threw the blade to the furthest reaches of the room and crumbled to the blood soaked ground._

 _His name was Jacob, he had a 5-year-old child and was happily married._

 _The last bit of my innocence was ripped away._

 _I am a monster._

These people wanted me to be a weapon, a monster? So be it, I doubt that they ever expect their pet to bite.

Turning towards the monstrous machine, I flapped my wings slowly, hovering in the dark stormy sky. The wind whipped around my still form, tugging at my knotted hair and ragged clothes. With a single tear rolling down my cheek, I raised a hand, spreading my long, dirty fingers wide.

When an individual is forced into using their fight or flight instinct, everything changes. The person will drop everything held dear, every shred of their existing morals.

Once the choice is made, adrenaline will begin to pulse through one's body and will heighten their senses, causing the world around them to slow down to a crawl. In the face of danger, even the weakest man will become strong.

Fight or flight… and I had done enough running.

 _"She's wonderful!" Exclaimed one of the many scientists as they surrounded my play pen like vultures around a dead carcass that was recently hit by a passing car, beady eyes staring hungrily at the easy meal._

 _I sat there on the floor, barely four months old, playing with a small stuffed horse. Its fur still felt like silk even after it had endured many years of abuse by many different children._

 _Not too much comfort is given to something that was not to survive, like many others, for more than a couple of months after creation. The iron walls stretched high above me as the concrete flood laid unforgiving underneath fleshy legs. I had baffled the scientists as my first few months of life flew by in perfect health. My fate was unbeknownst to me though, as I enjoyed the smallest of pleasures. My tiny wings ruffled and high-pitched squeals erupted from my small mouth in delight. Without anybody touching it, the small horse slid across the floor to come back to my awaiting arms._

 _"She will become quite the solider"_

Like a finely tuned harp, my power began to sing throughout my body. Concentrating on the death machine that steadily raced towards me, I closed my eyes.

Slowly, painfully, I began to pull my fingers towards my palm as a resounding shriek filled the air. Nothing can compare to the sound of metal caving in upon itself, except that of the screams of the men trapped within.

The helicopter screamed and moaned as it began to twist and break within my mental grasp. The men on board tried to flee, but it was too late, the doors could no longer open as the cockpit shrunk around them, crushing them. The helicopter, now almost completely unrecognizable, floated for a couple more seconds before I released my hold, allowing it to begin its free-fall.

I watched as the contorted hunk of metal plummeted towards the forest below; with a loud explosion filled with fire and thick black smoke, it was gone.

Using my power to that degree left me on the edge of consciousness. Floating in an out of consciousness, I haphazardly picked a direction and without the strength to flap my battered wings, I floated with the air currents.

The winds permitted me to drift slowly north and after a couple of minutes a small meadow came into view. Screaming out in agony, and blood still pulsing from the bullet wound in my leg, I flickered in and out of reality as I neared the safe haven.

I descended through the air and fell without grace. The wet ground was unforgiving as my body made a long muddy creator. Breathing raggedly, I managed to position myself on my broken and battered wings so that I was able to look up at the gray sky. The storm had ceased and not a sound could be heard except for the bubbling of a nearby brook that had swelled with excess water.

Peace washed over me, and with a sigh I looked upon the parting clouds. Within the cracks, a bright blue sky could be seen. A light breeze wafted through the tall grasses that surrounded me and brought the smell of sweet honeysuckle to my nose, filling me with a heightened sense of tranquility.

Closing my eyes, I found myself on the edge of a cliff, in lieu of the normal stormy waters that would crash among the rocks below, rested a serene pool. I was to make a choice.

I jumped. Plummeting into the waters below.

Within the waters, like an echo, I could hear the loud thud and feel the slight vibration as something heavy and metallic landed beside me.

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Thank you again and I hope to update regularly :)


	2. Respite

Hey Guys!

Thanks for reading this far, guess that means it is not absolutely terrible. ;)

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Warmth surrounded me like a lovers embrace, enveloping me in a realm of comfort in which I had never ventured. I could stay here forever within these folds of silk. Sighing, I snuggled deeper into the warm blankets that wrapped me in a cocoon, but suddenly, like a batter being hit by a whopping fast ball, a realization sent a resounding shock through my body, causing me to bolt upright.

Where the hell am I?

Flinging my eyes wide open, I took in my surroundings. I am no longer nestled in the tall, sweet-smelling grass, but a luxurious bed that could fit many more people than just myself. Its soft silk sheets and plush comforter attempted to seduce me back into a lulling sleep. What happened to the Trees?

Across from me sat a large flat screen TV that was mounted on the mocha wall. The cream ceiling cascaded upwards and in the center hung a chandelier the twinkled in the sunlight that shown through the wall to my left that doubled as a window... sunlight. How long have I been out? Throwing the covers from my aching body, I struggled to get up.

The fact that I was alive is a wonder to behold.

The hardwood floors were cold to the touch and the rush of blood from sitting up so quickly caused me to feel disoriented and light-headed. Blinking slowly, I attempted to clear my now clouded, throbbing head by looking down at my cold, bare feet.

Where the hell are my boots? I frowned slightly; those had been a gift. Grimacing, I took a step forward, but was insistently reined to a halt as a ripping pain rocketed through my leg, making it feel as if fire was coursing through my every vein from foot to hip.

"Shit, " I sputtered, oh yeah. I had been shot; memories from the previous day coursed through my head.

Stumbling forward to grasp on to a beautifully carved oak bedside table, I came to notice that on it sat a glass of water and 2 pills. Distrusting and feigning ignorance to the pain, I ignored them and stood as tall as possible without bearing much weight on the injured leg. I could not afford to be this injured, sighing, I am no better than a horse whom is three-legged lame.

Looking down at my thin body, I noticed that someone had stripped me of my soaking wet, blood splattered clothes and replaced them with a pair of silken sleep pants and spaghetti strapped shirt, no doubt to accommodate my wings.

Pushing my pants down to my knees, I had completely expected to discover a grotesque festering wound, but was shocked to find that someone had meticulously cleaned and bandaged my leg. Much skill could be seen within these wrappings, a careful hand had done this.

Odds have it that this degree of craftsmanship could only come from a doctor, _great_ , I have come to harbor a deep hatred of doctors.

Yanking my pants back up, though being careful to avoid my now bandaged up thigh, I glanced around and came to notice most everything in the room was made of oak, from the canopy bed frame, who's drapes were a deep blue to match the covers underneath, to the beautiful bookshelf that was overloaded with thick leather-bound novels, and the large wardrobe. It made the room almost homely, I actually liked it. Blue is my favorite color.

It reminds me of clear skies and a sense of freedom as I would soar through the crisp clouds, unhindered and unafraid.

Fear is a constant reminder of what was and what will be.

On the wall adjacent to me hung a monstrous mirror that was encased in a golden frame, curious I hobbled over to it.

Gazing into the looking-glass, I beheld an image of a raged, weary women. Her thick brunette hair, dark as a cup of fresh brewed Colombian coffee, was hacked off to fall just above her breast. It was in a mass of knots and tangles that would cause any comb to snap. Her face had high cheekbones that could cut glass and a strong feminine jaw line.

Her eyes were a stunning shade of green that if one was to just look close enough they could see the hidden variations of vibrant golds like that of the sun and even some shades of dark blues within the depths of her iris, of that even the ocean would have been envious. Like a portal to the depths of her soul one could see her very meaning, her purpose, but like the hieroglyphics on an ancient tomb, those whom only needed one who could decipher them.

The message was lost.

There was something almost animistic about her face, her expression. My gaze continued down her slender neck to her bare tan shoulders, which had a couple of thin silvery scars carved into them. They could not be easily spotted unless the onlooker knew of their existence.

Continuing down her slender form that stood about 5'5'' one would appreciate that though she was thin she did still have her gentle curves that gave her a feminine figure. The women lifted her tank top just below her bust to reveal a smooth stomach that under the smoldering lights of the sun exposed five thick, ragged scars that cut from her left side to the space that a belly button would be. Belly buttons are for those who were born.

Not created.

These scars where unlike those which were scattered were a stunning red, that raised slightly from her otherwise unblemished stomach. These scars could have only been made by a rusty blade drawn haphazardly and ruggedly from one side to the other and back again.

Never again...

Widening my focus, I let the final overbearing feature come into view, one that made what looked like an ordinary women into something different, something inhuman, something alien.

The women within the glass slowly turned so that her back was in full view. Protruding from her shoulder blades rested a huge pair of wings. She extended one wing so that its every detail could be viewed.

The anatomy of these wings were amazing, powerful, meant to carry its pilot long distances and at a quick pace. These wings could perform aerial movements that even the most technologically advanced trick planes would struggle to accomplish.

They sloped downwards, then upward stopping at her ears before they plummeted down to wear the longest and biggest feathers, the primary flight feathers, barely brushed the middle of her calves. They had a smattering of different shades of reds and browns with white highlights that stretched horizontally; decorating them. They were, in all honesty, an extensive pair of red hawk wings, for that is what her DNA consisted of: 85% human female 15% red hawk. She was a geneticist's wet dream.

This woman is me.

Turning away from the looking-glass, I stumbled into the middle of the massive room. Spreading my wings, stretching and pulling, trying to turn their knotted muscles and tendons to at least a dull ache instead of the terrible roar that pulsed through my back. My 22 foot wingspan filled the room and being careful to not knock anything out-of-place, I lifted the tips of my wings towards the ceiling and back down to rest neatly in their appropriate position. Looking around, I noticed that the only easy exit was one door to the left of the TV. It was a thick, mahogany oak that looked as strong as the tree itself.

Whomever had me within their grasp was very wealthy and did not mind flaunting it, well at least they had decent taste.

Now where am I? Gimping towards the enormous window, I rested a hand gently on the cool class and peered out.

"Oh my god..." I murmured. The scene before me was remarkable. Tall buildings reached towards the sky as the streets far below were filled to the brim with people of all shapes and sizes. New York City, of all the placed I could end up it had to be one of the most inhabited cities in the world.

Allowing myself to use my hawk like vision, I zoomed in to see a young couple holding hands, a mother with child crossing the street, to a group of construction workers repairing what looked like a gothic church. These people just went about their happy lives in what seemed to be a carefree manner. Envy coursed through me, I wish I could be them. To live a simple, maybe even boring life. I will never get the chance to simply walk down a crowded street, what most New Yorkers would perceive as a daunting task, or even fall in love. Have children? I chuckled darkly, that is not even possible for me.

I am surrounded by life; escaping was going to be much harder than I first imagined.

Suddenly, I was ripped out of my innermost thoughts as the door behind me was thrown open. Preparing myself for a fight, I crouched down, pain searing threw my leg, most likely reopening the wound.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" yelled the figure raising his hands up into a surrendering position "is that how you are going to treat the man who saved your life? Wow, that is just plain unthankful." I remanded in my crouching position and quietly studied the man before me.

He that stood before me was, well handsome; though the glint in his eye told me he was of the mischievous type, good or bad? I have yet to find out. He seemed to have a permanent smirk as if there was a snide remark just waiting to burst from his finely sculpted mouth that was framed by a stylish goatee.

His dark brown hair was thin and almost had a windblown look to it and gray hair could be spotted by his temples. He was an older man, though he was graced with the fact that he had aged so well.

He was gaudy.

He managed to look empowered even though he was simply dressed in a pair of dark wash jeans and an Ac Dc tee-shirt. I had seen one of their concerts before, they were playing in an outside venue. I had watched from the trees nearby. The concert was rowdy and filled with adoring fans. Though the music had been overly loud, it was interesting.

"Nice shirt" I replied, motioning towards it. Relaxing my posture slightly, I allowed myself to stand a bit straighter. Saved my life, huh? This man does not look to be made of metal or to have the ability to fly. Though in the state I was in he could have skipped up to me with a marching band.

"Why thank you, I met the band in person, of course, being myself you get those kind of privileges" his voice was cocky as hell.

"And who would that be?" I asked, raising completely out of my defensive position, but still ready to protect myself if provoked. Shock shown in his dark brown irises and his mouth dropped just a touch.

"Have you been living under a rock!?" he gasped, a hand covering his agape mouth. Dramatic much?

Yes, yes I have. I let out a small chuckle. He took a few steps forward, making it so we were now only a couple of feet apart. His expensive cologne wafted through the air, it was musky like that of the wood that lived deep in the forest, it smelled nice. Reaching out, he offered hand, and after giving it a wary glance I gently took it within my own.

With a smile he brushed his lips, like a moth's wing, across my knuckles and responded "My name is Tony Stark. THE genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. I am leading the world in green energy and only a couple of years back I saved the Manhattan from big ugly aliens, you know, as THE Iron Man."

"Wow Mr. Stark that is quite the list of accomplishments. Now if I may ask, is picking up women from a field one of your past times or is there something else?" I pulled my hand from his grasp and took a painful step back,... damn bullets. I truly hope I do not have to run or fight my way out of here. I am in no condition to do so, maybe I will be able to talk my way out?

Taken aback, he rose a single eyebrow "Would you have preferred that I left you bleeding out in the middle of that dumpy field?" he was obviously expecting a big thank you and maybe a tear or two.. I have not shed a tear in years and I am not about to start now, emotion made one weak.

I gazed feverishly into his brown eyes. Anger clouded my vision, I promised myself that I would never let this happen to me again and yet here I am. Locked in a room with no escape, it may be well furnished and comfortable beyond compare but the idea of it is no better than the hunk of concrete that was my cell for 18 years.

"What do you want from me?" I growled. "There is no such thing as good honest people, people only help each other if there is a catch, if they can get something out of them."

Stretching out a clawed hand, I used my mental grasp to rip a painting from the wall and fling it at him, narrowly missing his head. I watched as it slammed into the wall behind him with a shattering crash.

"No, there is no catch, " he said completely unfazed by my advance "I saw a beautiful, badly wounded women on the ground and she was in desperate need of a helping hand." He strode towards the door and spoke gently, "I will be down the hall enjoying a nice strong drink, join me when you are done breaking my stuff".

With that, he waltzed out the door. The door closed softly behind him.

I am definitely not in Kansas anymore.

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Thank you again! Please review :)


	3. Trapped

Hey Everybody!

A big Thank You to everyone who Favorited, Followed, or Reviewed my story. It means a whole lot to me!

Please Enjoy!

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Scorching hot water streamed down my bruised and battered body as the overly complicated shower slowly and painstakingly unwound my taut muscles. Starring down at my neglected feet, I observed as the filthy water swirled down the drain, completely stripping me of all the physical evidence of the past few months. I picked up a cloth, squirted a generous amount of floral smelling body wash across its coarse surface, and began to ferociously scrub my skin, though being careful to avoid the bandage which covered the gaping hole in my leg that throbbed smartly as water attempted to wash away the blood.

Though I did not truly know Mr. Starks motives I could at least enjoy the shower. Rainwater can only provide a minute amount of cleanliness and soap was… well, amazing.

The lather flowed down the curvature of my body as I scrubbed my scalp. Why am I here? Mr. Stark may seem like an egotistical, pompous, and absurdly rich man but that does not lend me answers. There was a time where I acted as a piece de resistance, billions where on bid as corrupted companies attempted to buy what can only be described as my blueprints.

Blueprints were sold, but never the properly detailed ones, I can only imagine the amount of suffering life that was uncaringly created using these blueprints. Every single one deformed and in immense pain as their mangled bodies attempted something that their ungodly genetic code could not handle; life.

 _Digging until my tiny fingers bled, I scraped away at the concrete space in the iron wall. Beyond my cage lay many more and if I could simply make a tiny hole, just big enough to carry the sound of my voice, then maybe, just maybe, the person in the cell next to mine could hear me. maybe even speak back._

 _I just want a friend._

 _Digging and digging, I finally managed a minute crack, just big enough to peer through. I stared intently through the crack making out a room similar to mine. A metal cot with something laying atop the blankets. Putting my young lips to the part in the wall I whispered "Is there anyone there? Please?". A groan greeted my call._

 _Excited, I whispered feverishly "Hello! Hi! My name is Heather and I am 6 years old! What is your name? I like the color blue! I also like the color green! What is your favorite color? Do you want to be friends?"_

 _Suddenly a wail crawled forth from the belly of the mass sprawled out on the bed. It turned over, sliding from the bed with a terrible thud as its mangled body hit the floor. The thing beyond the wall was a mass of what could only be described as human and goat, to many legs protruding from its grotesque body covered with raw flesh and mangy hair. Its goat like eyes lay inflamed and infected on its half goat, half boy face with an overly long, bloody tongue clogging the thing's mouth as it wailed. Dragging its half decaying body across the floor, its shrieks coming closer and closer to the hole in the concrete. Covering my ears, I leapt away from the wall cowering in the corner. Throughout the night the creature's scratches and wails passed through the barrier._

 _I cried along with the thing._

 _We are all monsters here._

Pulling myself from the horrid memories, I quickly grabbed the expensive conditioner from the shower's shelves and spread it through my frazzled locks, soothing them. While my hair was receiving some much needed attention this did nothing to soothe my shortened nerves.

Finishing up my shower, I stepped into the foggy washroom. Grabbing a rather plush towel, I wrapped up my body and hobbled over to the large vanity, sitting down upon the plush bench. I wiped the mirror of its fog and saw the same woman from before. Her soaking wet hair clung to her face like a drowning man to a life-preserver.

Her eyes haunted.

Rummaging through the many drawers, which were filled with various beauty products, I found a pair of scissors and a comb. Surprised, I rotated the sharp blades in my hand; they are either very trusting or very ignorant. Setting the possible weapons down, I picked up the comb.

I have constantly lived being afraid of what will come, what the future was going to dish out. I had never been given much reason to hope, to cling onto the idea that there is still good in the world.

Hell, maybe I am wrong, maybe this will be a turning point... hopefully. Hope is a dangerous thing, however, and has only hindered me throughout my life. Making way for dreams. I had many dreams throughout the years, but each and every one has been squandered and thrown far out of reach.

Hope can get someone killed, so I have not time for hope. I must survive.

Stroking the brush through my tangled tresses, I slowly unwound the many knots that hid inside the masses. Raising the scissors, I grabbed a sizable chunk of hair, hesitating for only a second, and sliced. Grabbing chunk after chunk, I cut away the past few months.

My next step can only be to figure out what in the world Stark wanted from me. Though, I would be even happier just to break through the monstrous window, which adorned a wall of the plush cell. I need to get the hell out of here.

Placing the scissors brashly down upon the countertop, I took in the sight before me. The women in the mirror stared back at me intensely. Locks of dark, wavy hair stuck out wildly in random directions, giving the women a wild and ferocious look about her.

Good.

Staring down at the soiled bandages that encased my thigh, one could behold a deep red pool beginning to form slowly but surely across the damp white cloth. Propping my foot upon the marble counter, I slowly and painstakingly unwrapped my thigh to reveal the deep puncture that looked as though the slightest movement would reopen it and send my leg into unstoppable, painful spasms. I have had to wrap many wounds before, but being shot is completely different and it takes much longer to heal.

I rummaged through the different cabinets and drawers to find a fist aid kit which held a collection of bandages, these particular ones beheld pictures of hearts and bows. After wrapping the wound to the best of my ability and taping it together with some of the heart covered tape. I struggled to my feet.

I smirked at the binding job. Every battle wound should have heart band aids on them. I placed a second one with little pink bows on the knick which stung on my ear.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I found that the bed had been made and laying on the finely pressed sheets was clothing that I assumed was for me. A green striped tank top, black cargo shorts, and my combat boots, which had been carefully cleaned. A fine blush quickly filled my taunt cheeks as I found the overly suggestive and reviling, lacy underclothes. Dropping the towel that encased my body, I began to get dressed.

Hell, if all else fails and this is some sort of trap, I am now squeaky clean and more or less put back together.

Striding forward to the best of my ability I placed a slender hand on the cool, strong wood of the mahogany door. Glancing over my shoulder, I found myself in a predicament. Do I throw the wardrobe through the window or do I take the front door?

While the idea of a big exit sounded fun, I could imagine just how many people would see my grand escape. Plus, if Mr. Stark is just as obscenely rich and powerful as he believes he is, made of metal and can fly, I could just imagine the amount of technology he has within his sold grasp.

That includes helicopters and jets.

It seems the only seismological answer is to take the front door. Though I would have to find something to cover my wings, which do not simply pass off as a shawl.

What lies behind these doors?

Maybe as soon as I opened these doors I will find the frigid metal walls of the laboratory in which I was created. Would there be guards on the other side of this barrier that would pummel me to the ground and reattached the restraints that I have come to despise? The electric anklets that could bring a grown man to his knees with a single shock? The binding cuffs that would encase the base of my wings, making it so that they could not be brought out of their prone position? The heavy gloves and thin metal crown that would keep me from using my mental abilities?

Hell, is the door even _unlocked_?

Grasping the large brass handle, I slowly turned it to find that it was unlocked and with a slight push it glided open to reveal a regular hallway.

Peeking my head out to look around, I found that it was void of life with no guns in sight.

Stepping out, I chose to go right and, using the wall as a crutch, slowly walked along the corridor passing many other closed doors. Stumbling, I passed a wide window. Tapping on it lightly, I found that it, like the one that served as a wall in the earlier room, was made of a very strong glass like material. Through the window one could view New York City from a completely different angle. In the distance proudly stood the Statue of Liberty, a statue that represented freedom to some and mocked others who were not so lucky.

That is when the ruffle of clothing and the shuffle of footsteps crept up behind me.

"Excuse me, ma'am" came a soft, shy voice from very close behind. Clenching a fist, I swung around and aimed a hard right hook at the owner. With a soft thunk my pitch was caught in a large calloused hand.

Blinking, I looked straight ahead at an expansive chest that was well-defined even under the blue tee-shirt that masked it. Slowly looking up, I beheld a man whose strong jaw line and striking baby blue eyes, steadfast and resolute, looked down at me with a shocked expression; one eyebrow raised. Plump red lips pursed in confusion and fine blonde hair that was styled in a way that reminded me of old war photos sat upon his head. Not pausing any longer to calculate the attractiveness of the threat ahead of me, I quickly pulled back. Reading myself for a fight.

Should have taken the window. Nothing is ever easy.

"Now I may not be the best at first impressions, but I am sure that is not how this usually goes." His voice was like velvet, caressing my mind and pulled at something deep inside of me.

Must be my instincts telling me to get the hell away from this man who radiated authority and who's gaze, though cautious, seemed ready for whatever I might throw at him.

His eyes flickered to my wings once before they settled back to rest upon my intense glare, "I have no intention of harming you, ma'am." Glancing down at my defensive posture, his gaze leveled at my thigh. "I think you may need some medical attention, though."

Focusing down, I saw that the fresh bandages that I had just applied was now becoming a stunning red at an alarming rate. That is when a ripping pain shot through my leg, sending it into spasms.

Shit.

I grasped my thigh, feeling the blood moisten my palm; pain clouding my mind.

"Damn bullets," I swore quietly to myself.

"Here,'' he said, reaching forward to grasp my elbow, "Let's get you some help."

"I don't need your help!" Yanking my arm from his grasp, I struggled to rise and, with a gasp, I crumbled to my knees. Damn it, why am I this weak! Normal bullets should not have caused such a wound. This is new, this is different. This is… Poison. Studying my thigh, I watched as the white linens became more and more saturated.

"No offense ma'am, but I don't believe that you are in any condition to disagree." To both my surprise and displeasure, I was then hoisted up, like a sack of potatoes, and carried down the long hallway. His pace was strong and steady and covered the ground quickly, which left me with little time to react.

With a little humor, I noticed that his neck was flushing red, showing either aggression and hostility or embarrassment, I would imagine this being the first.

His long strides quickly carried us through the expansive, seemingly endless, hallway and, in what seemed to be a very short period of time, we came to a pair of wide, metallic doors that when approached opened to expose a vast laboratory.

 _Struggling against my many restrains, my muscles screamed and my core trembled with a terror that I would never express. Fighting the fear, I ripped against the chains that bound me to the frigid metal table. Muffled angry screams and foul words tried to force their way through the muzzle that encased my lips._

 _From my left sounded heavy footsteps that echoed against the thick steel walls._

 _"Oh Heather, why is it that you always seem to end up here? Aren't you exhausted? Your existence would be so much easier if you would just give in! Imagine all that we could accomplish!" coming to stand beside me, he gently rested a hand on my bruised arm; skin crawling at his touch. Choosing to ignore my obvious disgust, he continued._

 _"With my help, you could have everything you ever wanted! You were CREATED to aid us in overthrowing those who are lesser. But you have heard this many times and yet... here we are. Now you know that your little... outing cannot go unpunished." pausing he seemed to contemplate something. "I must say though, I am very impressed. You managed to take down 10 of my best men in a rather short period of time. You are becoming quite the little killer." I stared up at the man with the scarred brow with disgust, hatred pumping through every vein._

 _I'm the killer? Hundreds of people are being mutilated and destroyed in their little experiments! I have been here since birth and I still have no idea what or who we are overthrowing. There are so many things that I wish I could scream at him, I want to make him feel the pain that he has put me through, I want to avenge those whom have been hurt by him... And one day I will accomplish this._

 _He will die by my hand._

 _And with that he brought out a long, rusted knife coated is what I could only describe as a type of acid. Closing my eyes, I waited for my punishment for I knew exactly what he was going to do._

 _I already had 3._

 _Bringing the knife to the soft, supple skin of my stomach, he let out a sad sigh, "You know, this hurts me almost as much as it hurts you."_

 _I doubt that._

 _My screams echoed within my very being, ringing out to the farthest expanses of my soul._

 _He never heard a sound._

God, no.

Placing both hands on the blonde's shoulders, I launched myself over his head and landed on my feet. Ignoring the crippling pain, I bolted down the hall. Behind me the blonde yelled out and his heavy footsteps could be heard as he made chase.

He was fast.

Using my wings as a propulsion system, I forced myself faster; Blondie's steps becoming more distant. Rounding another corner, I found myself at a dead-end. Before me was the entrance to an elaborate elevator; which was in use. The numbers above the wide doors slowly counted down coming closer and closer to the floor, which I am currently trapped on.

Panicked, my eyes darted around the room desperately trying to find an exit, a window, something!

Ominously, a quiet ding rang in the small, silent space. Heart racing, I watched as the doors opened and, in all his glory, stood Mr. Stark. He was dressed in casual business attire, arms crossed and a knowing smile plastered to his face. Behind me one could hear the blonde slowing to a stop. Did I want to fight? Was I really prepared to hurt these people, maybe even be forced to be their guide down death's dark path?

No, no more death.

"Ah, Heather! Are we causing trouble? Oh, and the haircut, very 'edgy'." Glancing over my left shoulder, he smirked and looking back at me raising a single brow and let loose a small chuckle. "She managed to get away from you even with an injured leg. Are we slowing down, old man?"

"She surprised me," he muttered from closer behind me than before.

Voice like a razor blade, I demanded, "Why am I here, Stark?"

"Why do you think you're here?"

"Are you with them?" I snarled. "I just have a very hard time believing that you're helping me out of the kindness of your heart. Nobody just helps me; there is always another reason. A price."

"How about this, you come with me back to the lab and we'll get you fixed up. No tricks, only some more pink band aids. Then, and only then, I'll answer your questions." When I gave him a cold glare in response, he added, "Pinky promise, kid," and held out his little finger, expression _almost_ completely genuine.

Trapped and refusing to fight, I simply nodded.

What choice did I have?

I don't want to be a monster.

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	4. All by Chance

Alright guys here we go!

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Sitting upon a cold metal examination table, surrounded by machinery that was far above anything that I could comprehend, was not exactly how I intended to spend any amount of my time. In fact, it could be categorized as the worst thing I could be doing at the moment.

Well, besides leading a massacre, that may be the absolute worst thing I could be doing.

It would have been so much easier if I had just killed… severely wounded Blondie and the infamous Mr. Stark.

Sighing, I shook my head, cursing my sense of lopsided morals, before taking in my metallic surroundings.

The lab was, well, massive and just like the bedroom in which I had awoken, one wall was completely encased in glass, showcasing New York which bustled at a steady pace down below. The sun set to the west, filling the sky with vibrant reds, oranges, pinks, and purples, whimsically casting shadows upon the buildings. Light, fluffy clouds lazily floated through the sky without a single care. I sighed, wishing I was them; how wonderful life could be.

The hues of the setting sun also meant that I was again to face another compromising situation. I could either escape under the graces of a darkened landscape or stay the night in the luxurious bed. While I lusted for one, escaping seemed to be the best option.

A couple of minutes strolled by before my attention was pulled from my fleeting thoughts to come to focus on the approaching men. On the left strode Stark, openly conversing with whom I could only presume to be the doctor and on his right walked Blondie, who listened intently to their muffled chatter.

Ah, a doctor, _how wonderful_. The man walked forward more hesitant than the other two; each step was measured and calculated. He was of a medium build and stood slightly taller than Stark, but nowhere near the height that Blondie possessed. He wore simplistic clothing, a dark purple button up shirt slightly covered by the oh so important lab coat.

Well, at least the coat did not have any noticeable blood stains. I let loose a small, unladylike snort. Crisp and clean.

Allowing my gaze to raise up to the man's face, I pondered his identity. Dark brown wavy locks speckled with light gray hairs that suggested age rested upon his crown. Sun kissed skin stretched across the expanses of his face only marred by the occasional worry line that seems to have embedded itself within the pores: he must be a stressed man. His thin lips pulled down in a slight grimace at a comment that Stark had made. It must have been a crude joke because Stark's boisterous laughter soon filled the expansive room, its echoes bouncing off the walls.

Stopping a couple of feet away from my tense form the group of men fell quiet. Sitting up straighter under their critical gaze, I waited for one of them to speak and, not to my surprise, my ever cocky host stepped forward breaking away from the herd. Pulling my gaze from the doctor, I beheld Stark as he came forward to rest a hand on my shoulder. With a jerk, I brushed his hand from my skin, which then fell loosely to drum on the table.

Tap Tap Tap

Ignoring my obvious distaste he continued, "Heather! This is Doctor Bruce Banner, the man who aided in bringing you back from the dead." Stretching out his free hand, he beckoned the good doctor forward.

Quickly, he offered a hand and said in a soft tenor voice, "It is nice to see you once again Ms..."

"Johnson," I replied coldly, shaking his hand lightly, making brief contact. Even monsters have manners.

Tony watched quietly before piping up. "Now Brucey, my feisty little friend here has managed to completely ruin your handy work and is now bleeding all over my shiny table! Do you mind patching her up?"

Banner and I simultaneously looked down at my thigh, which, though the bleeding had stopped, was still a dark red that had left a nasty print on the metallic surface.

Glancing back up at Stark I frowned, this bullet is truly becoming quite the little problem.

"No worries, kid! Bruce here will fix you up to be even better than before," bolstered Stark throwing an arm around Banner's shoulder. Banner awkwardly shuffled out from under his zealous friend's arm, and walked over to one of the many tables, picking up a couple of tools, bandages, and ointments.

Beside me, Stark pulled a clear panel of glass from the nearby wall and after touching it a couple of times, images began to appear. Amazed, I watched as text and pictures zoomed across the screen. Glancing to Blondie I found that he shared my interest. Catching my eye, he quickly averted his gaze and questioned, "Where did you find this… Ms. Johnson."

Answering Blondie's question Stark spoke, "My sensors picked up activity within one of New York's outermost state forests, activity being gunfire and an unidentified helicopter. Being the unsung hero of this beautiful city, I decided to fly on out there and see what all the commotion was. By the time I got there I found our lovely friend laying in some dingy meadow, passed out, with the heavily armed helicopter laying in ruins half a mile away. That being said darling, what did you do with the helicopter?" Crossing his arms he awaited my response.

Blondie's eyes hardened as the air within the metallic walls grew thicker, the doctor stood off to the side, holding a chart nervously, looking as if the growing stress in the room was affecting him more so than everyone else.

Measuring my words carefully, I met Stark's inquisitive gaze with an equally hardened one before, with words as smooth and cold as winter's blade I responded, "I was camping in the forest when I was suddenly ambushed by a squadron of men. I fled, and as they made chase I became wounded by a rather nasty bullet. And the helicopter, I will simply state that I needed it to stop shooting at me".

I needed to survive.

Raising an eyebrow, Stark muttered "Did you happen throw a rather expensive painting at it?"

Smiling a touch, I took note of how I did indeed 'throw' a painting at him then grimaced at how silly and childish the act had been. Sighing, I simply stated, "I did not".

The blonde man and the good doctor both looked strangely at Stark's unusual question before my host yelled, "Bruce! My shiny table!" Appearing back to my side, Banner set down his clipboard and finished arranging the assortment of medical equipment. He asked, "May I?" as he motioned to my thigh. Nodding my head, I carefully watched as he set off. He worked diligently and, unlike most of the 'doctors' I have come to know, gently.

Strange

This man acted as the complete opposite of my host and I could see that if I was given more time with the man that maybe we could become closer. A man so quite must have so much to share.

Allowing myself to relax I closed my eyes. I was bombarded with images of my haunted past which swirled behind my eyelids. Gruesome scenes filled with pain and death filled my mind, pushing them at bay I tried to focus on the feel of the room. Not to my surprise, I could feel someone staring at me. As the only freak in the room I would imagine I am quite the creature to behold. I am used to it.

I opened my eyes to come to focus on the baby blue irises of the solider. In an attempt to escape the horrors of my thoughts I allowed myself to fall into those blue eyes. Deep, expansive oceans brewed along the outer rims, tossing in waves and drew my hesitant gaze further in to reveal an open blue sky which was speckled with sunlight. A sense of warmth started to grow within my core as I took flight within his eyes, reveling in the pure sense of freedom that they had enticed within me.

This moment, which felt like an eternity lasted only a fleeting moment before I was ripped back to the man at my side as he swabbed at the wound with a disinfectant. Jumping slightly from the shock that resulted from the sting, Banner looked up at me through his thick lashes. His deep brown eyes, the color of the worn bark of an oak, stared through his thin wire framed glasses into my own green ones. He only held my gaze for a second before he quickly looked away. Though brief, I saw that within his irises a multitude of emotions where hiding, from worry, to content, but most of all, within the deepest crevices of his soul, I saw anger. An anger that sent a shiver up my spine.

"Sorry," he muttered softly. "I'm almost done." Returning to his work he began the process of applying the bandages. I lifted my leg slightly to make his work easier.

Glancing back to my escape I noticed that the eyes no longer were focused on me, but the window to his left, his expression help a slight look of shock before quickly being brought back to one of stone, a slight hint of red tinged his cheeks.

Focusing back to the good doctor I could see that he was applying the final touches. As soon as he looked up from my leg and took a step back, I jumped down from the table, ignoring the pain, and put some distance between the four of us

Banner looked surprised by my quick retreat and muttered "All better." Why are these men so adamant about helping this little science experiment? He must want something, they always do.

Blondie stood there for a second before walking over to a nearby table that held various instruments and after picking up a long silver rod, he fiddled with it curiously. Stark quickly walked over from his station behind the strange glass, took the object from the large Blonde's hands and pushed him towards the door. "You could not afford that if you broke it, old man!"

Why did Stark keep calling Mr. Muscles 'old man', He was obviously much older than him, whom could only be in his early twenties.

Stark pulled a plush desk chair from a nearby table and brought it within my vicinity.

"No thank you, I'll stand," I said pointedly, looking at the chair.

"That's fine. It is not for you anyways," and with that he plopped down, making a show of just how comfortable it was. Crossing his legs in a very manly fashion, he leaned back and put his hands together. "Selfish," he quipped jokingly. "Such a needy house guest!"

Banner just stood there, looking around trying to figure out where he should be, or if he should even be here, before he eventually decided to just lean against the table. Clearly, he was uncomfortable. The man with the beautiful, blue eyes stood at attention beside the two other men.

I prepared myself; Let the show begin.

Stark, playing the ring master, spoke up. '' So, Heather. Let us go back to my previous question. What were you doing in New York's Finger Lakes National Forest? Which by the way is a completely ridiculous name! Where in the world did they come up with 'Finger Lakes!?' But anyways what were you doing out there? Being chased my lots of angry people, with guns, and a heavily armed helicopter?" He did not leave out much, did he?

Feeling apprehensive under their scrutinizing gaze, I muttered "As I said before, I was camping."

I took a brief moment to look to the jury, Blondie and Banner. The All American Boy stood at attention, waiting for my answers, while The Good Doctor just glanced around the room, looking as if he felt the need to be somewhere else. At least someone found this just as uncomfortable as I did.

"Ah-ha... and all of those angry people?" Stark prodded. Blondie leaned a little closer, face full of intrigue.

Placing my hands on my hips I attempted to halt the flow of questions, "I know nothing about you three and you all know nothing about me, and I would prefer to keep it that way. While I do appreciate all the help that I have received while under your care I do not wish to be a leach and would like to take my leave."

The blond man spoke up, "Listen, I understand you are probably confused and unwilling to put any form of trust in us, I understand and if I may be brash I can imagine you have been through your very own war. We want to help, I don't know why you were being hunted down, but nor do I care at the moment. There is no reason for a dame... a woman like you to be shot down."

Please just let me leave, I really don't want to have to hurt you. "I do appreciate the sentiment that you are putting forth, but I simply cannot stay here, yes I am being hunted down like the animal that I am" The man's face twisted with some emotion, anger? I continued, "But staying in one place is simply never an option. I have to keep moving, hell the only reason they were able to find me is because I set a fire and left it going for much too long. They followed my smoke trail and nothing more. If I just keep moving then I can have what little sense of freedom that I may possess. Please allow me this freedom. Don't make me hurt the only people of whom had given any kind of second thought about me."

Taking a step back, I prepared for the worst. What are they going to do now that their little bird is trying to leave, to escape? Now is not the time for second thoughts.

I have to survive.

The blonde man took a second before sighing, "Ms. Johnson, How about we make a deal? We will flip a coin, heads you walk right out the front door without anyone stopping you. We will not chase you, we will not bother you, and you can pretend that you once again have your warped sense of freedom. Tails, you stay for a week, just so that Banner can keep an eye on that leg and that we can keep you safe, but just for a week. 7 days. Deal?"

Bewildered by the offer I asked, "And what if I refuse the coin toss and force my way out?" Standing tall, his voice lowered to almost that of a whisper but with what was said one could think he was shouting. "I will find you". A shiver ran down my spine at the statement made. Glancing behind him at the other men I found the Stark and Banner shared a surprised look before settling on a resolute one, supporting his absolutely insane threat.

Backed into a corner again. Meekly I nodded my head.

Pulling out an old coin which was weathered and rusted he glanced at me and tossed the round piece of metal into the air. Time seemed to slow as the light reflected off each side of the worn coin until it landed in the man's large palm cupping the coin, he then slapped it onto the back of his other hand.

A moment of apprehension filled the room before the side of the coin was shown.

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Also! If there are any artists out there that are bored and would like something to draw, then why not try drawing Heather or a scene from my Fanfic? Just a thought!


	5. Hunger

Hey guys! I hope that all of you enjoyed your holidays and that your New Year's eve/day was fantastic! I apologize for the long wait but with festivities come all kinds of crazy shenanigans. I hope y'all enjoy this chapter and please don't forget to review, favorite, and follow! Thanks!

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Time slowed to a seeping crawl as no one within this metallic cage seemed to want to interrupt the silence with any sort of breath nor movement. Without a moment's hesitation, Steve lifted his hand to uncover the "winning" position of the coin.

Light gleaned from the metal surface as New York's blistering sun drenched the room with its gleaming warmth. For a split second, I could not come to understand exactly what was before me. I could not be this unlucky, no? Realizations cold grasp took hold of my frantic heart, bringing it to a jarring halt.

Heads, my world stood still for a single moment as the shock stretched itself throughout every fiber of my being.

A small smile and touched the blonde's plump lips before glancing at me with his sky blue eyes.

Trapped, once again trapped in a place that I wish not to be. Peeking about the room, I came to notice that Stark and the good Doctor were no longer looking at the aged coin but to my frozen frame. . The blonde's eyes, of which had been staring deeply into mine, now glared at my retreating figure. Striding towards the glass pane I fully believed that my body would solider on without the consent of my mind and I would smash right through the glass pane, but before I could take the final assault, I stopped. Resting a slender hand on the cool glass, I glanced over New York City's expanses.

New York is a concrete jungle of whom many thousands of people called home. All walks of human life marched at a steady pace below as the unknowing individuals rushed through their lives. How do they not realize just how precious their lives are? Why make out they rush about so, without stopping to savor the beauties their world has?

Their universe was so simplistic and while they may think that the events and struggles of daily life might be astounding ad grueling they will never know just how tiny they are. Not unless they can look at themselves through the eyes of a bird.

Their worlds were so simple.

Did they realize what is actually going on around them? The terror? I would imagine some of them held the belief that they themselves were trapped. But they've known not the reality of their world. No matter their circumstances, they could escape. They could walk freely without the fear that someone or something would come out of the shadows and end everything they hold dear; even life itself.

Behind me the three gentlemen stood, apprehension pulsing through the energies that surrounded them, waiting to see what I might do.

Placing my wrists out in front of my slumped form I spoke, voice refusing to waver, "Well, it seems that lady luck was not with me today". Glancing around the small group of men I frowned as no one came forward to lock me up. "Come now, gentlemen, no locks? No chains? What would a proper prisoner be without her heavy jewelry?"

Stark pauses for a brief moment before coming to stand before me. A slight smile touched his lips yet the light did not touch his eyes, which lay in a gray fog of disappointment, he spoke quietly "You are no prisoner here but a friend. Friends are those which will help one another at whatever cost. Never forget that Heather, now come, allow me to indulge you within your lovely new home." Guiding me past the two other merry men, we proceeded from the metallic lab back to the hallways. Without a moment to collect myself, Stark began to guide me here and there, not a moment passed without a syllable passing through his lips. The man could host his own talk show.

As he continued his Ramblings I found myself being guided from room to room. Passing through a set of heavy double doors we entered a large and sophisticated gym. The room was filled to the brink with training equipment to help develop one's body into one of which could win any fight. In the center of the vast room sacked a base platform which was roped off. A ring of sorts, after a moment of thought, I realized that it was a sparring ring, one in which people would try their hand in defeating the other. My first of many kills took place in a ring akin to that.

I am a monster.

Quickly exiting the room which brought about horrid memories, we came to a sort of common room. This room was beautiful with its leather couches, oak tables topped with ornate decorations, with an obscenely large television plastered to the wall. Snapping back to my hosts rambling, I heard "I don't spend much time here. however, whenever company comes over, then they tend to gather in here for refreshments." He stated gesturing to the rather large bar. The many bottles, which lined the wall glittered under neither the soft lighting, "that is one of my favorite places within the building." Winking, he guided me from the beautiful room.

Going forward through the labyrinth of hallways we landed in a massive kitchen. Surly this was not only for a small grouping of people, it would much better accommodate a restaurant. Peeking at my most talkative host I muttered "Exactly how many people live within the building?"

Raising a single brow, I motioned to the extravagant kitchen. Laughing as he stated "Well, there is my fiancée and I, my good friend Bruce, and then we have a variety of guests come through time to time. Other than that, we have an empty household."

Confused, I met the glinting eyes before me and spoke, "Now what of the blonde man?" Surely he lived somewhere close by and with the monstrosity of a building this seemed to be I could only assume that he took solace within its confines as well.

"Blonde? Oh, you mean Steve." Waving a hand about he continued "Trust me doll, I am much more exciting than that old stick in the mud. He has just started to grasp the concept of our beautiful world of technology"

Where does the man live then?

"What do you mean? You have also called him an 'old man' man time yet he seems to be much younger than you? You act as if he has been… 'Trapped under a rock' for quite a while."

Snorting, he responded "Ha! Just imagine how bad it was before he had two years to become acclimated. It was a hoot! The only thing he understood was solider stuff. I, myself, will never be a solider."

Completely lost by his banter I walked towards the kitchen, I could feel my insides letting loose a dull roar as they begged for even the tiniest morsel of food. I could withstand the physical trauma of fractures, cuts a bruise, but what I found to be the most excruciating was the deep knelling hunger that could transform a king into a beggar within a couple of days. Starvation was a tactic my caretakers used to force me to perform different tasks.

 _Screams ripped out of my ragged throat as I tore my metal cot from the floor, taking the simplistic metal frame I berated the concrete walls with blow after blow until my muscles began to ack. "You can't fucking do this!" I bellowed at the camera I knew to be there. Screaming, I attempted to use my mental grasp to further cause damage to the room, but suddenly, like a horse kick, My body was flung against the wall as an electric jolt crashed through my ragged form._

 _Silence filled the room._

 _On the other side of the wall my horribly deformed friend moaned as hunger ravaged his mangled and disgraceful form. They were trying to kill him. He should have died so long ago, yet his heart managed to continue an erratic beat. While his very DNA trued to tear him apart from the inside out, his will to live kept him going. As starvation began to take hold of him, I would force my food through the small crack in the wall I had made so long ago._

 _Once the caught wind of what I had been doing they cut off my food supply as well. They stopped delivering my meals to my cage, but reverted to force feeding. Tying me down and shoving a feeding tube down my throat, causing it to bleed and burn._

 _My friend needed me and I could do nothing._

 _He died that night._

Confused eyes met mine as Stark attempted to break me from my trance. Waving a hand in front of my eyes, he droned "Heather…. Heeaattherrr! Wake up chick!"

Snapping out of it, I jolted back as his proximity startled me. The horrid images crawled back into the deep recesses of my mind.

Fucking Monsters.

Seeing that he had indeed brought me back to reality he said "Now would you like something to eat or not?"

Food! "Yes, I would enjoy that" ushering me to a stool that took its place beside the granite island.

"Now I am not the best chef, but I can make the best damn omelet that you have ever had!" waltzing away he began to prepare me a meal. While I had no idea what an omelet was but I in no way was going to object to something that may or may not be editable. With hawk like eyes, I watched as he sundered of to a large silver box that when opened released wisps of cold air and within sat more food then I have ever conceived.

Hunting the multitude of wildlife that manage to sustain me throughout the years was always a humbling process and I would take one's life to further the time I would be allowed to live.

I have to survive and for that little time the hunted became the hunter.

Watching stark cook for me, his 'guest' filled me with a sense of gratitude that I rarely had the chance to behold. This man took me from the brink of death, or something similar to it, nursed me back to health. He then provided me with food, clothing, warmth and shelter but most of all he bestowed upon me a name I have never had never been called. A friend.

I will forever be within his debt and even when my sentence if null and void I will honor my debt, no matter the cost.

Ripping me from my thoughts I beheld as he took what looked to be eggs out of the ice box and began cracking them open. The irony of it all hit me as an over loud and obnoxious laugh burst forth from my dried lips. The sudden sound caused stark to jump, letting loose one of the eggs, causing it to come crashing towards the ground to come to a soft stop as it hovered just about the hardwood floor. Gasping for breath I managed to say "I just had to save my kin!"

Still laughing, I brought the egg to rest at eye level with the aghast man. Tenderly grabbing the floating egg he looked at me inquisitively. "Now that was unexpected, not only do you show sighs of happiness you manage to make an egg float. Now when we first met I thought that maybe you were just super-fast and were able to throw the very expensing painting at me that way but no… telepathy is your trick… interesting. Now do you still want the delicious carcasses of your unborn cousins?"

Silencing my giggles, I nodded, locking eyes with him, waiting for the judgment and for the guns. Instead, he just continued to make my omelet acting as if it was normal. What the fucking hell did the man know to where bird girls with telepathy were normal?

Minutes passed before as the aromatic smell filled the air and before long a beautiful half-moon sat before me on an ornate plate. Mouthwatering I picked at the golden yellow thing with my fingers before a silver fork was placed within my grasp. With care, I cut a small bite before lightly placing it on my tongue. It was fucking delicious. The warm buttery texture filled with cheese and ham filled my mouth as my insides trembled with pure bliss. How could something taste this good?

The golden delicious meal was quickly consumed, but left me hungry for more. It has been much too long since I have eaten. Raising an eyebrow at my quickly cleared plate, he smirked "Well, I know I am good but never had I thought that I could make that good of an omelet. DO you want another one?"

Nodding enthusiastically, he laughed as he set off making one after another. As he fed my withered stomach I fed his inflated ego.

As the feeding frenzy continued the blond man entered the room coming to sit beside me. Nodding towards my plate, he stated "I have seen that kind of hunger before, when my men and I marched through he torturous swamps of the second war. We went three days without food and barely enough water to go around. Some of the men went to drinking the swamp water, but were quickly sent into violent spasms of vomiting. Anyways, I see that Stark has tricked you into eating his 'world famous omelet' but don't let his ego give you a false sense of hope, the local fast food joint will have better."

Taking a second to swallow I stated "It had indeed been a little long sense my last meal and I will stand up to my hosts cooking because it is the best I have ever had." I took a slower bite before asking the question that had been clawing at the back of my mind. "Exactly how old are you? I may not know much as it comes to history, but if you are referring to World War 2 then you are much too young to be a part of that."

Stark and Blondie, also called Rogers, shared a look before he stated" Not everything is as it seems here. You have unfortunately stumbled into a world that you may not be accustomed to"

Putting down the fork and swallowing the last bit of egg I sat a bit striated on my stool, feeling heavy from the amount of food I had consumed within a short span of time.

"Are you going to answer my question or dance around the target?" Anger glazed my tone as I waited to learn just where and with whom I am trapped with.

The young blonde brought his rough hands together, his neatly kept hair glossing softly below the lights as his oceanic eyes swam with a multitude of thoughts and feelings. Looking up from his twiddling thumbs, he stared into my emerald ones. Without letting myself fall in, I grazed the outer depths of his eyes, which held worlds of knowledge and most of all wisdom.

His young form held an old soul.

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Have an awesome day and I shall update soon! :)


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